


Whiskey Ridge

by viktorstardust



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Choking, Clubbing, Deepthroating, Drunken Flirting, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Hair-pulling, Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Trans Male Character, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and for the third, but not really, no flash au, olan cums in his pants, oops i added more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorstardust/pseuds/viktorstardust
Summary: Olan goes to a bar for one type of escape, and leaves with another.
Relationships: Olan Hoyt/Terry Hintz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for some nice folks on Twitter. I had fun with this one.

Bar life has always suited him better. It’s suited him since he turned twenty-one (as far as the law is concerned). If his wife had known that his real place was not in the home, but rather in front of a bartender, an irrelevant sport on the shitty little TV, and a beer in his hand, maybe things would’ve stayed uncomplicated. The only way things ought to be.

Olan doesn’t let it get him down, though. It’s lonely in his single-man apartment, but he himself never stays lonely for long. Even if it’s on a night-to-night basis. That’s not always why he’s here, though.

Sometimes, a man just needs a stiff one.

The bartender is a friendly face, gets him his drinks before he can even sit down. He’s not loyal to any one place, but they still all know him. Lately, though, it has become less about the alcohol and more about the place, just having somewhere to be between sleeping and working. 

He’s not a sad man, really he’s quite the opposite. To a fault, maybe. 

The bar’s close to empty tonight. Occasional regulars like Olan sparsely line up on the barstools, enough room for there to be two seats between them so nobody has to talk to each other and can be content to just drink or watch the TV. Most bars are for the sociable type, mixers for the lonely or the horny, or both. Not necessarily the case in Olathe. Bars in small towns like these are for drinking. Just drinking. At least the ones Olan likes are for just drinking. He can’t dance well enough for a club. 

It wouldn’t be so horrible to meet someone, though. Work friends can only do so much for him. 

He turns on his stool, his back to the bartender to survey the scene tonight. There are a few people that he’s never seen before, talking amongst themselves with no clear interest in anyone else. Nobody that catches his eye; they all look like college kids anyway. Olan’s not old, but he’s sure as hell not as young as that. He’s a divorcé, a father, a salesman. If anything, he’s a harrowing reminder to those kids to never get old. 

It’s not his crowd.

The sad drunks on barstools aren’t his crowd either. In fact, he’s not totally sure he even has a crowd to begin with. If someone here can manage to charm him, that’ll be his company tonight.

He slams back his first shot, the pleasant burn just as good as he remembers it being. Instantly he can feel himself loosen up and loosen up still until he’s comfortable here again. 

His eyes continue to absently scan the small crowd for faces that interest him, people he has a shot with tonight. Sure enough, that person is right in his line of sight, sipping a cocktail and trying to sloppily insert himself into other groups of people with little to no success.

Olan’s curiosity piques as he watches the man say something he can’t quite hear to a bar regular that looks about ready to bite his head off if he doesn’t shut up and leave him to get shitfaced. Olan cocks a little smile at the absolute lack of awareness he has, not knowing clearly that it’s best to let drunks like that just be drunks. The idea of swooping in and saving him from an elbow to the gut briefly crosses his mind before the flirty bar hopper gets the message and moves on.

When he comes into better light, Olan can see the stranger in all his clumsy glory. Looking like the cover of an 80s magazine though they’re well into the 90s, everything about him is loud. Loud and purposeful, down to the thick black hair trailing provocatively down his exposed stomach. Olan takes another drink and just waits and watches. Watches him bounce and sway gently to the music over the bar radio. Guy’s so peppy he looks like he’s a better fit for a roller rink than a dive bar.

Olan kind of likes it.

Eventually their eyes meet, as they were bound to do eventually, and the stranger takes the eye contact that Olan maintains as an open invitation. As he comes closer, he realizes he’s probably seen that face before, though he can’t tell where. It could be anywhere. The one meeting of AA he went to out of a fleeting sense of guilt. A school thing for one of his girls. Just somewhere on the job. Despite how much Olan lives at bars, he gets around enough. It’d be hard not to know a face like that, given how social of a person it belongs to.

Not that any of that matters. This’ll be the first conversation they’ve ever had. 

The man sits next to him at the bar, a small, flirtatious smile on his face. There’s no way the guy isn’t at least a little drunk by the way his movements seem to stagger even when sitting down. 

“Hey there, stranger.” He says to Olan, tracing the rim of his glass absently with that unflinching little smile on his face.

“Hey yourself.” He responds simply. He’s done this enough times in the year he’s spent divorced to know how to chat with obviously tipsy, obviously flirty people like this. Even if he has no intention of taking them home. Sometimes the conversation alone is good enough, if not as the precursor to a one night stand, then as a good memory of an interesting person.

“I’m Terry...what should I call you?” He sways on his seat with his head tilted like he’s dying to know the answer.

“Olan.” They shake hands, way too formal of a greeting for an occasion like this.

“Olan...” Terry says it back to him. “That’s such a neat name...where’s it from?”

Honestly, Olan has no earthly clue. Might as well pull something out of his ass to keep Terry’s interest. “Russia.”

“Cool, man, cool...” he leans on his palm, never breaking eye contact with Olan as they sit almost uncomfortably close on the barstools, knees just barely touching. Give Terry one thing, he’s certainly not shy. “I think I know you...” 

Something about great minds thinking alike. “Couldn’t tell you from where.” 

“Mm...do you know a guy named Brad Armstrong? He’s like, my only friend in this town...” Terry says with an endearing little moue. 

He does, in fact, know that name. Another sad drunk, but one that made for good company at the bar he was loyal to. They’d hung out a couple of times, maybe been to AA that one time Olan bothered to go, the kind of friend you don’t talk to but don’t really need to talk to. “Yeah. Drinking friend.”

“Ah, that’s it!” He exclaims with a clap of his hands. 

As the night gets older, Terry’s talking his ear off about all sorts of things. How he can’t hold a job, how he’s more of a regular at a nightclub Olan’s never heard of but that it’s not the best place for making friends since the music’s so loud. And for all the times Olan could choose to tune out, he never does, holding all the information about the oddest character at this bar in his head like he’s studying for a test. 

He learns some things, and when he bothers to get a word in, Terry learns some things about him as well. He learns about how Terry doesn’t always have a place to live. Doesn’t have a job, never went to school. His material possessions are everything he can fit into a backpack. The most implicit part of Terry’s stories, what Olan can pick up from just by context, is that Terry is in some _desperate_ need of companionship.

In that way, they’re in the exact same boat.

As Olan drinks his whiskey and listens, Terry matches it by pounding back his own sweet-looking cocktail like he’s trying to show off to him, and Olan doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s a seasoned drinker, and for every one shot Olan does, it’s ten shots for Terry. But it’s endearing watching someone that he didn’t think could get any more boisterously sociable do just that. It’s enough to keep a smile on his face.

“So yeah, that’s where I’m at right now...” Terry sighs, close as he can be to Olan for two strangers in a bar. “It’s so lonely in this town, man.” 

Before he has the time to decide if that’s some sort of invitation for Olan to accept, their knees are touching and Terry’s leaning on him like they know each other better than they do. 

Terry wraps a hand around Olan’s bicep, looking up at him with suddenly nothing to say. They share a moment of calm quiet. Olan doesn’t know exactly what Terry’s thinking, just that he himself is wondering if he truly knows what he’s doing. If he takes Terry home with him like he’s insisting, that he will know what to do for him. How to be with him. It’s really nothing more than a hypothetical one night stand, but he’s never been with a man before. It seems like an entirely different kind of art.

Terry’s hand moves from his bicep to his chest, tipsy enough to rest it there and still somehow manage to look him in the eyes. Consider Olan sufficiently charmed at Terry’s lack of shyness or modesty.

It’s Olan’s initiative, though. His home they’re going back to, his choice.

His doubt in his own ability to pleasure another man thankfully doesn’t outweigh what he came here for in the first place. “You wanna get out of here?” He asks. It’s a line he’s practiced so often by this point it may as well be his catchphrase.

There’s explicit relief on Terry’s face. “Hell yeah, dude.”

The bartender puts both their drinks on Olan’s tab as they leave the bar.

* * *

Olan’s apartment screams “single” and he knows it. 

A house full of miscellaneous male identity, a perpetual man-cave. He misses his garage where he could freely practice shooting (as if he even needed practice anymore) to his heart’s content. His poor bow left neglected in a room he uses for storing things that might make this house a home if he bothered to take that initiative. 

It’s not a bad place, though. From the look on Terry’s face when they walk in together, it’s the best place he’s slept in a while. 

Not that there’s any time for a grand tour; Terry’s jumping him the moment Olan closes the door behind him. They both sobered up a bit on the ride home, but they still crash their mouths together just as clumsily in the middle of Olan’s living room. 

Terry’s a ways shorter than him (he’s really into that) so he has to bend down a little for their lips to really lock. He puts a hand on a part of Terry’s waist not covered by his clothes, and he can feel the other man literally shudder at the touch. Can feel his need before they’ve even taken off a single piece of clothing. 

Terry’s hands slide up Olan’s shirt, eager to touch him in return. He does Terry the favor of removing his own shirt. When the kiss momentarily breaks for it, Olan watches him take it all in, all the unremarkable “dad-body” he can admire.

“Fuck, you’re handsome...” Terry whispers, his lips against Olan’s throat. He’s not used to getting called that. None of the women he sleeps with feel the need to point it out if they think he is handsome. He hopes it doesn’t go to his head.

Somehow they manage to backwards-step their way to the bedroom as they kiss and touch each other, to Olan’s king-sized bed where they collapse together, still not doing much more than kissing and groping. Terry removes his own shirt and Olan drinks in the sight of a body so different and so anomalous even for someone who’s slept with more women than he has numbers in his phone. It’s a different body, different because it’s a man’s body. It may have features he understands in the broad sense of the word, but he still wonders if he’s out of his ballpark here.

He must be staring for too long because Terry’s on him again, quite literally on his lap. Olan wants to pull him off so he can reciprocate the compliment from earlier and tell him what a beautiful body he’s got on himself. But he’s too preoccupied with the kiss and trying to help Terry out of his shorts so they can do more than just kiss.

Olan switches their positions and gets Terry on his back under him, who can’t stop kissing Olan’s face and neck. It’s endearing, makes him feel warm and appreciated even if he hasn’t done anything worthy of that appreciation yet. 

He gets Terry’s pants off, and what he sees is unexpected. But if he has a reason to point it out, he doesn’t. He’s sure that it’d kill the mood to point it out. It’s all the same in his own mind. He thinks he can feel Terry’s shoulders fall with relief when they don’t stop to talk about it, so that was probably the right thing to do. 

Terry spreads his legs in wanting, inviting him to push it further. He’s probably not as drunk anymore, but there’s a tipsy lilt to his voice. “You can do whatever you want, man...please...” 

In all his stoic, cool-guy shit, Olan finds himself fumbling to do just that, something, anything. Whatever he wants. It’s hard because for once he doesn’t want to just get himself off, get his partner off, be done with it. Terry’s so intriguing to him, he wants to take his time and take in as much as he can in the one night they’ll be together.

He presses his lips to Terry’s chest and moves down with them until he’s off the bed with Terry on the edge of it, so he can kiss Terry’s stomach, his waist, between his thighs...Finally he knows what he himself is driving at. He’s been told he’s good at it by every woman he’s ever done it with, including his ex-wife. Consider it a secret talent.

When Terry realizes what he’s doing, he takes in a breath almost like a little gasp. “Oh, fuck...” 

Olan can’t help but smile a little against his thigh. His lips drag until he’s right there in front of it. He can practically feel Terry’s anticipation right up until he puts his lips on him, going in tongue first. Terry’s body goes stiff, then limp again as he tries to get a hold of himself through the pleasure, but clearly it’s been a while since anyone’s done this for him. 

For sure Terry’s body is foreign to him. Even if it’s parts he already knows. It’s a man’s body more than anything else. He noses Terry’s thick pubic hair as he gets to work, sucking Terry off and sliding a thick finger inside of him at the same time. Terry’s legs twitch around him before his thighs close around Olan’s head and neck and squeeze him in a good way. He’s never been with someone so vocal, so vibrant and excited by everything. Before he even realizes it, Olan’s hard in his pants just from those shameless, begging moans.

He curls his finger inside of him and Terry practically lifts off the bed, squirming around madly, always in motion like he was at the bar. Olan sucks hard on Terry’s clit and can practically feel him throb on his tongue. It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful. 

He can feel Terry doing anything he can to keep control of himself, his hands in Olan’s hair, then the bedsheets, then digging into his own thighs for purchase against the feeling of Olan’s mouth. 

“Oh, god...” he cries, bucking his hips against Olan’s face desperately. “I don’t wanna cum like this, not yet...”

Olan pulls off him, his lips and lower face soaking wet from eating Terry out and the finger still buried deep inside him still absently stroking his inner walls. “You’re already close?” He doesn’t mean it mockingly. It’s just another endearing thing Terry’s done in the short few hours they’ve known each other.

“No one’s ever...” Terry speaks between staggering breaths. “Done that for me before...” 

Olan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” It’s something he’s always done for people. Something about him being the first person to do it for Terry makes him both proud and sad at the same time. He brushes the thumb of his other finger against Terry’s sensitive clit.

“Yes...!”

“Did it feel good?” He can’t help the smug little grin on his face. This is giving him too much pride in himself.

“Dude, please!” Terry begs, pleading with him to just get back on him, make him feel good. 

Olan chuckles and pulls his hands away finally, climbing up on the bed with him. “Easy, easy...” They lock lips once again. Terry can no doubt taste himself on Olan’s lips, still wet from eating him out. Try and play it cool as he might, Olan’s more than ready. More than eager to move forward, not to get it over with, but to savor it up until he finishes with Terry in a mess of sweaty bodies and tangled limbs. 

As they kiss, Terry reaches for Olan’s pants and unzips them for him. He loves that Terry doesn’t mind taking some control over the situation, and there’s no better way to control a man than through his cock. His fingers ghost over Olan’s bulge through his underwear. It’s his turn to have his laugh, giggling softly. “You’re so big, I can feel it...”

It’s too much, he can’t wait anymore. He pulls himself out of his boxers and gently pins Terry back down to the bed. “This good?” He asks when he’s got him in position with Terry’s legs spread wide beneath him. 

“So good...please...” Terry breathes out in no more than a whisper and takes Olan by the head to kiss him again. “Give it to me...” 

When he’s all lined up, he doesn’t have the heart or the will to tease him anymore. He pushes himself into Terry with a deep, long and shuddering thrust. Their moans mimic each other until the moment of sobriety when Olan’s buried inside him and their eyes meet. 

That moment of clarity goes away when Olan starts moving and the intense weight of pleasure clouds their minds again. It’s a mess, but it’s great, Terry’s hands on his body and his lips on his throat so they’re touching as much as they possibly can be. Being with another man is different in ways he can’t explain. Just is. And it doesn’t need an explanation. It simply feels right. 

The breaking point comes when Terry’s hands move to Olan’s face, and even if he doesn’t show it, it’s so much. Almost too much. The intimacy makes him sad about things he hasn’t been sad for in months. He closes his eyes and melts into that touch, those loving hands. They don’t know each other, not really. But for once, he can see himself getting to know this person on a level above this.

Honestly, it’s the best sex he’s had since the divorce. Maybe even before that.

Driven wild by his feelings, he pounds into Terry as hard as he can without hurting him. He wouldn’t doubt it if people could hear them through the walls, but if Terry doesn’t care then neither does he. And Terry definitely does not care, if every audible gasp and moan that Olan fucks out of him means anything.

“You’re beautiful,” Olan finally mutters what he wanted to say before when Terry was taking off his shirt or when he had his thighs around his head, his late response to being called ‘handsome’. Terry pulls him by the face again to kiss him, or shut him up maybe. He’s fine with either.

Terry’s close. He can tell, he can feel him clench around his cock in anticipation of it. He doesn’t know exactly how long they’ve been going like this, just that they’re both sweaty and stupid and that usually means it’s coming to an end soon. 

Olan almost doesn’t want it to. He could stay like this all night.

“Oh, god-!” Terry practically screams. In a second, he’s unceremoniously squeezing hard around Olan’s cock as he comes, thighs shuddering wildly until he wraps them around Olan’s waist to ground himself. Olan watches with his lips parted in silent awe, probably memorizing every detail of his lover’s face when he spills clumsily over the edge with a gasp. Caught off guard by his own orgasm. Smooth. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m-“ he tries frantically between pleasure and apologetics for not pulling out. Is he not even wearing a condom? Did he not even know he wasn’t wearing one? God damn it. 

“It’s-it’s okay!” Terry pants through his own pleasure. “I’m not...you can’t knock me up, man...” 

Good enough for him. 

Eventually the panting subsides with their orgasms, and the pair fall back onto the bed in pleasant, sexual exhaustion. 

After he regains clarity, Olan looks over to see Terry looking like he’s passed out with a blissful smile on his face. He’s still awake when he speaks. “Shit...that was great...” 

It was. It really, really was. At a loss for words after the fact and definitely more than a little flustered at how quickly he let himself come undone, Olan simply closes his eyes too and runs his hands through Terry’s soft hair.

That lasts until Terry gets up to use his bathroom. When he comes back, Olan sees a very different, very insecure Terry staring at him from the doorway.

“What’s up?”

“Do you care if I sleep here?” Terry asks, much unlike the outgoing and unapologetically odd man he met at the bar. “Or we could just cuddle for a while, or something?” 

Olan’s never kicked a one night stand out of his bed on the worst of dates. He wouldn’t dream of doing it for this one. 

“Yeah. Stay the night with me.” 

Terry beams gratefully and climbs under the covers with him. 

It’s the easiest sleep Olan’s gotten in months.

* * *

It becomes a routine to not just have Terry in his bed, but to have him in most rooms of the apartment, most days of the week when Olan gets home. 

Terry still takes up rent with someone else, but he might as well not anymore with all the nights he’s there, and the many mornings after he where he’s still there. 

Sometimes they don’t even fuck. Sometimes he stays up for hours listening to Terry, getting drunk at home with him, any number of non-sex-specific activities that fill his apartment that used to be so empty and quiet with pleasant noise and company.

He’s not going to put a label on it. Friends with benefits or just a very extended one-night-stand; it hardly matters. 

What does, is that the bar is no longer his only home. 

  
  



	2. Sundown Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry drags Olan to his favorite club with less than pure intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an olllld olanterry oneshot, written again for my lovely friends but also just because i like them and wanted to write them again. This id meant to be a sort of continuation of the first one, and yes it is Very self indulgent thank you

He knows Terry wants something the minute he comes home from work.

Instead of his usual spot on the couch in front of the TV, or in their room napping (it’s like living with a cat, he swears), Terry is sitting at the kitchen table of their shared apartment, already looking at Olan before he’s even in the door. With his hands holding his own face and his lips contorted in a sad little pout like he’s the unhappiest guy in the world. 

Olan smiles. It’s kind of cute. He’ll be the first to admit he’s become dangerously endeared to Terry since he started living here, a one-night-stand that became a two, three, four-night-stand until they decided it was better to either put a label on this or just let Terry live here. He’d been getting kind of used to going home to him anyway. They still haven’t put a label on it, but at the very least it’s passed being a one-night-stand.

“What-“

Before he can ask, Terry’s speaking over it. “Please let me take you to a club, man.”

Ha. This again. He almost feels like he did when he was married. In a good way.

“Not my thing.” He shrugs and undoes his tie before it chokes him out. “You’re more than welcome to, though.”

They’ve had this conversation a couple times before. Terry likes to party, Olan likes to relax. They’ve never even said what they are to each other yet, but sometimes they really are like a married couple. “I wanna go with _you_ , man.”

“I’m too old for it.” 

Terry lets his face drop to the table in frustration. “We’re the same age,” he contests, looking up at him, determined to not let that be the end of it. “It’s so much fun, dude.”

He knows what Terry’s ideas of “fun” are. Not even the opposite of his own ideas, but he’s not thrilled about the public setting and the choice of music. Olan knows why Terry likes that stuff — it’s loud and lively and sexual. Just like him. And Olan likes Terry, likes those things about him, he just doesn’t like a hundred other sweaty guys and blaring house music. 

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Just wear, like, jeans and no shirt. They don’t care as long as you have pants and shoes.” 

Olan thinks about being shirtless in a club with other shirtless guys, how a man who’s been married with two kids would stack up against a bunch of twenty-somethings who go to clubs for a living. “Oh God, no.”

Terry squints and stands up, walking over to him and wrapping his arms around Olan’s waist, his head on his chest which is as high as Terry reaches on him. Olan can’t help but smirk.

“I’ll suck your dick, bro,” he murmurs with his cheek squished against Olan’s chest. “For free.”

“For free, huh?” Olan laughs, then sighs. He weighs it in his head; go to a club and risk a headache and possibly being ground on by guys with better bodies than him, but also getting to see Terry in his element, dancing and happy and possibly explicitly erotic. Maybe he’ll be able to just hang out at the bar and watch if it gets too much. A place where adults are socializing with each other in any way is a place with a lot of booze.

Since he started thinking, Terry’s collapsed to the floor in theatrics, still holding onto his waist and making the case for his favorite nightclub. 

Fuck it. It’s a friday. It might even pleasantly surprise him. And getting his dick sucked for free (even though it’s always free) is tempting.

“Okay.”

Terry looks up, excitement lighting up his face. “Okay?”

Olan pulls him back to his feet by his arms. “Go get dressed.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Olan smiles as he clumsily takes off into their bedroom. It’s hard to say no to that.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

* * *

It’s pretty bad.

He doesn’t back out on it, Terry’s too happy for him to want to miss out on it, but the rest of it, he could probably do without.

It’s a lot more crowded than he thought, apparently Olathe has a pretty booming gay male population. Who knew. He’s getting accidentally shoved by guys into other guys as soon as they walk in. The music’s not really his thing either. Loud and so bass-y he can feel the rhythm all the way up to his skull. Getting to the bar is like swimming during a hurricane. He’s clutching onto Terry’s shirt and following close behind him just so he doesn’t get lost in the crowd.

He’s trying not to be a stick in the mud about it, though. Terry looks really happy, even before they start dancing. Like this is really his favorite spot in town. Olan’s a little touched he likes him so much to want to share in it with him. If only what they were sharing in wasn’t loud, sweaty, and horny.

They manage to find their own place in the crowd, Terry directly in front of Olan and already dancing while Olan stands still and looks very out of place here, no matter how much he tries to bob his head along with the music. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, politely passing on the suggestion that he go shirtless. He’s certain he looks like a dad that wandered into a rave looking for the Home Depot. Not like anyone’s really paying attention to him. That must be the good thing about places like this; the music’s too loud and the lights are too dim to really care about what anyone else is doing as long as they’re not humping you. 

Thankfully, he gets none of that, so his attention goes to Terry again, still in his element and working up a sweat in the neon lights. Everything else around him is a headache, but Terry’s kind of ethereal right now. Maybe it’s the heat going to his head, but his lover looks like some kind of nightclub angel in neon lights and a cutoff shirt that he cut himself from an old tank-top. Olan smiles a little as he watches him go. He’s more than a little weak for him by now. Hell, he got him to come here.

Olan watches him dance in the flashes of colorful light that wash over him now and then. There’s not a lot of grace or technique to it, but it’s right for the setting. Terry’s lively and energetic here. Not having a job leaves him with a lot of energy. They work because Olan doesn’t need him to pay rent or get a job to pay rent. He thinks they’re both just happy for the company. 

What a place for him to start getting sentimental in. 

He’s wondering if he should go get a drink after all to help him loosen up a bit, when he feels Terry’s body fall backwards into his. Olan almost mistakes it for Terry tripping into him and tries to get him upright, but Terry’s still dancing, closer to him than he was before. 

He smiles a little. He’s not totally sure what the right thing to do in this setting is, if he should touch him or just lay off and let him do it. But it’s kind of cute.

It’s cute until it gets more obvious what he’s trying to do. Terry leans his head back and looks up at him with a smile as he takes Olan’s hands and moves them for him until they’re on his hips, holding them there while he dances. He doesn’t need to be a part of this scene to know what he’s doing. 

He wishes he had more self restraint, but this isn’t really a place of self restraint anyway. He watches Terry, guiding his hands to different places on his body. His hips, upper thighs, up his stomach and almost under his shirt before Terry pulls them back down to the teasingly chaste position on his sides. The music slows to some symphonic, trippy rock song that must be the club’s version of slow dance music. Terry doesn’t even need a second to adjust his dancing to it, grinding back against his date slowly and deliberately like the psychedelic beat and the now ominously red strobe lights. 

And fuck, it’s really doing it for him.

Terry turns himself around so they face each other and so he can properly touch the body behind him. He’s thankful the music’s too loud to hear his own breath get a little faster like he’s struggling for air against the heat of a hundred something bodies crammed into a dance floor with one of them messing around with him who knows full well what he’s doing. He wonders if Terry’s always this horny when he comes here. If everyone around him is just as horny. Not like he has the moral high ground here. 

Terry’s knee raises up and presses against Olan’s crotch. Fuck.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but he can’t even hear himself say it, so how could Terry? In some kind of answer, Terry kisses his jaw and turns back around, taking that brief contact with him. He must be trying to kill him or something.

The music’s tempo picks back up, as does Terry’s overtly sexual grind-dancing. Olan looks around, and just as he thought, no one gives a shit about what they’re doing. Too busy dancing and grinding with their own blissed-out dance partners to pay attention to the way Terry’s ass is right up against Olan’s crotch with any concept of being teasingly decent out the window.

Okay. He can do this too. 

With one last glance around him, he reaches around Terry and grabs his body on his own. He can’t help smiling when both his hands are almost big enough to wrap all the way around Terry’s middle and have his fingers touch each other. Terry’s not small, Olan’s just unfairly large for a divorced thirty-something who sells vacuum cleaners for a living.

Terry shivers under his touch, shaking his hips and ass against Olan’s crotch in desperate approval. He’s starting to wonder if coming here was just a plot to have public sex in a place where no one cares. He’s surprised at himself for being as into it as he is. Was he even this horny before the divorce? Maybe Terry’s corrupting him. The thought makes his hips buck forward a little against Terry’s ass.

His touches get more bold even though he’s still a little nervous someone might see them do this. It doesn’t stop him from seeing how far they’re gonna push this, so he slides his hands up Terry’s shirt, cupping his chest and pulling his whole body against his. It’s harder for Terry to dance like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind it when he has no choice but to slow his grinding to what he can do with their bodies pressed so tight they probably look like they’re straight-up, shamelessly fucking inside a nightclub.

Terry tilts his head back so the back of it is resting on Olan’s chest. From here, Olan can see his face, smiling and biting his lip. It only riles him up more to see that, and he pinches down on Terry’s nipples, rolling the rings pierced through them in his fingers the way he likes. He only wishes he could hear Terry moan right now.

With Terry’s neck still tilted back on his shoulder, Olan kisses him from behind, all messy and wet because of the angle they’re in. Terry’s dancing has become unabashed, shameless grinding with Olan trying only occasionally to restrain himself from humping him, struggling to at least try and maintain the idea that this isn’t as erotic as it can be.

Terry reaches under his own shirt and puts it over Olan’s hand that’s still cupping him there. Like before, he takes it and drags it slowly down, all the way down until it rests at the hem of Terry’s shorts. Olan’s breath catches a little and Terry smiles up at him like he somehow noticed. He takes his own hand away as if to goad him on, see what he’ll do when where Terry wants to be touched is so in reach and pushing it even further. With just a little bit of hesitation and yet another cautious glance around him, Olan does what he wants and slips a hand down Terry’s shorts, all slow and cautious like he’s a virgin about to get some for the first time. Terry’s got a weird way of making him feel like a virgin. Pushing the boundaries of what he thought he was too vanilla for. 

He finds out quick that Terry’s not wearing anything underneath, his cock throbbing at the pretty overt message that sends. Terry’s lips are parted in a moan he can’t hear. He’s heard it enough times for him to imagine the sound while he spreads him open and slowly rubs three of his fingers around Terry’s pussy, already wet. 

He can feel Terry arch his back and wishes so badly he could hear what Terry’s saying to him right now. Probably daring him to do more and more until they’re ass-naked and fucking for real. Olan’s cock strains against his jeans just thinking about it.

Eventually, there’s a pause in the music when the deejay switches sets, and even through all the remaining sounds he can hear it; a split-second moan from the parted lips under him, like they’re the only two people in this nightclub, the only two people in the world.

“ _Fuck_ , man...” he pleads.

The music starts back up before he can hear any more, but its enough. Olan grits his teeth and slams his hips harder into Terry almost involuntarily. He can hardly think beyond wanting Terry to feel it, his hard cock that’s frustratingly probably not going to get any attention but frantic humping before they leave this place. Though, it doesn’t really know the difference.

Olan curses himself. He’s so close already, their fast-paced humping practically jerking him off. Out of frustration and maybe a little bit of revenge for definitely bringing him here and getting him hard on purpose, he uses his free hand to grab Terry’s hair, winding his fist into it. He knows Terry likes this, so it’s a poor excuse for revenge. A disco light briefly lands on his blissed-out smile to confirm it, he’s having the time of his life right now. 

He remembers what he was doing and apparently forgets about getting back at Terry for this and continues working his fingers deeper into his shorts. He imagines rather than hears his sounds and pushes himself closer to the edge thinking about how he never would’ve done this a year ago, never would’ve even been here if he didn’t know Terry. A year ago, he was a married man whose funnest nights were getting a whiskey on the rocks after work, maybe, if he was lucky. Now he’s grinding up against a raver that was meant to be a one-night-stand but became a permanent roommate. Maybe more. He doesn’t know. He can’t think about that right now.

He clumsily shoves his fingers inside Terry’s wet pussy just to feel like he’s doing more for him than humping him like some stupid animal. That’s how he feels right now, so far beyond thinking about it that his hips move on their own to rub against Terry and making their orgasms build. It’s embarrassing, but they’re too far in to want to stop.

He feels Terry grab onto his wrist and thinks for a moment that he wants him to stop, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s just holding on for leverage and dear life. He’s wildly humping Olan’s hand and holding it to keep him steady while he rides his fingers like he’s riding a cock, desperate and on the edge.

It hits him like an electric shock, his own orgasm catching him off guard right here, right now, in the worst possible place it could happen. Just like everything, the music drowns out his choked shout before he can bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to shut himself up. His grip on Terry’s arm is probably hard enough to hurt, so he pulls away and places his one clean hand on Terry’s shoulder instead, not giving him the time to adjust because they need to leave, and now. 

They get out of the heat and onto the sidewalk, Olan quickly steering them back to his car. His ears are still ringing when they’re in the parking lot, but he’s been able to hear Terry since they got through the doors.

“What’s wrong, man?” Terry asks and sounds so genuinely concerned that Olan has to laugh. He’s probably acting like he’s having an old-man heart attack when it was actually something infinitely less serious but so much harder to admit. 

“Nothing,” he pants, hiding his face with one of his hands. They’re leaning against the car and Olan knows he’s gonna have to admit it in a moment. “I’m okay.” That’s mostly true. Fuck, it’s not his fault though. The way Terry dances should be banned by a court of law or something. 

Terry’s a lot smarter than he wants people to believe, though. Through his fingers, Olan can see his evil little grin, a mix of astonishment and amusement. He knows what he did.

“Did you cum in your pants, man?” He asks, giggling wildly and wrapping his arms around Olan’s shoulders.

“Jesus—not so loud!” Olan whispers through clenched teeth, giving in and holding him back. It would be really funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing. If it were happening to some other guy in his late thirties that nutted in his jeans from dry humping.

Terry laughs but it’s clear he’s at least trying to be sympathetic. “It’s okay, dude,” he reassures through fits of chuckling. “No one saw.” He sighs and leans his head against Olan’s chest. “That’s so cute, oh my god.”

He doesn’t have it in him to argue with that. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Did you have a good time, though?” Terry asks hopefully. 

He did have a pretty good time, even if it ended up just being an excuse for them to have sex in almost full public without getting caught. “Yeah. It wasn’t bad.”

“Cool.” Terry says with an excited smile, probably hoping to rope him into this again next weekend. He’ll consider it. 

He’s still recovering when Terry nuzzles into his neck and whispers in his ear. “You good to finish me off? I’m so close...” there’s a hitch of desperation in his voice, and Olan both feels a little sorry for making them leave so quickly and like he’s getting a little bit of his pride back by having this over him. His wordless agreement comes in the form of slipping his hand down Terry’s shorts again, not even bothering to check the parking lot like he was checking around the club. They’re hidden by the car, anyway.

It’s better like this, where he can hear Terry’s soft little grunts and moans while he gets fingered, standing on his toes just so he’s tall enough to make it more comfortable. The rush they just experienced was fun, but Olan really prefers it this way. 

“Shit...” Terry gasps, his nose buried in Olan’s neck. He’s fingering him in a slow, almost lazy kind of deliberation. A stark contrast to the fast-paced, urgent humping and fingering to flashing lights and the sound of loud music. He can hear every sound out here.

He pulls his fingers out to rub at Terry’s throbbing clit, and that does it. Terry digs his blunt nails into Olan’s bicep when he finishes, letting out a long and choked moan into his neck. His thighs twitching, he lowers his feet back on the ground and kisses Olan’s jaw as a silent thank-you.

“Fuck...” he pants, fully leaning his weight onto Olan’s, against his car. “Guess we’re even?”

“No,” Olan pats him on the shoulder and stands them both up. “Mine was worse.” 

“I’m kinda proud, honestly.” He leaves him and slides over the hood to get into the passenger’s seat. “We can, like, rock-paper-scissors for who has to do laundry when we get home.”

“Good deal.” Olan says, his face heating up when he remembers...that. Kind of hard to forget right now. They get in the car and it rumbles to a start, ready to take them back to the apartment. Before they take off, Olan pauses, looks at his passenger, and almost cautiously takes his hand into his. 

“Thanks.”

Terry looks at him with a puzzled tilt of the head. “For what? Making you bust in your pants?”

“No,” he rolls his eyes. “Just for...taking me. I had fun.” 

Terry flushes and smiles brightly. Olan loves that smile. “Me too!” Terry kisses him on the cheek as they pull away. The feeling in his chest is a warm one, a familiar one.

He’s happy like this. He’s happy with Terry.


	3. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olan has a rough day, Terry helps in his favorite way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK ONE MORE this was a commission and its rougher and more embarrassing than the others buuut i hope you enjoy it

It’s really easy to tell when working stiffs have had a rough day. They come home, with bags under their eyes that weren’t there when they left, their hair all messed up probably from yanking it out in frustration, maybe a stain or two on their nice white dress shirts because the day sucked so hard they couldn’t even keep the ketchup on the dollar menu burgers they eat for their lunch breaks.

Terry likes seeing them as a different breed entirely, since he’s never worked a day in his life and really, really doesn’t want to. They’re like lab rats, fascinating creatures to put under a microscope. What makes a white collar tick?

Basically, he can always tell when Olan’s had a rough day. The guy doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’s usually so collected by nature that when something really gets under his skin, he might as well be wearing a wooden sign around his neck that says ‘I’m pissed off’. It’s kind of funny.

Olan’s about five minutes later than usual getting home, probably took an extra five to scream in his car. He shuts the front door to their apartment —Terry still gets all giddy whenever he gets to call it ‘their apartment’— behind him, all but slamming his hat on the counter and yanking his tie off like he’s absolutely sick of it, a five-dollar noose. Terry wonders what all can go wrong in a day in the life of a vacuum cleaner salesman. Other than nobody buying his vacuums, he guesses. They don’t even buy his vacuums. They barely even vacuum. Who even vacuums anymore?

Terry pulls his legs up to his chest to make room for Olan on the couch, who all but collapses there next to him with his head limply resting on the back of it. He really does look like hell, this work day aged him about five years. Terry doesn’t mind a mess, though (that’d be just hypocritical of him) and is quick to turn himself over and lean his head on Olan’s lap to maybe bring a little bit of comfort.

Olan sighs and lifts his head. “What are you watching?”

“Baywatch.”

“...Why?”

“I dunno, actually.” Terry grabs for the remote and turns it off. He props himself up on his arms to look up at Olan while they talk. “So, what happened? You look like you got hit by a car, man.”

He sighs again and grabs his pipe off the coffee table. Likes to smoke it when he’s upset, or just when he wants to look like an old dork probably. Terry thinks it’s cute. “My boss chewed me out for not making this monthly quota.” He says, like Terry knows what the hell a quota even is. “Ruined my whole day, couldn’t sell a thing. Because it’s my fault we live in a town with, like, five whole people in it.”

“That sucks, dude.” It feels like he should be rubbing his shoulders or something, like the sitcom wives do. “I’m sorry.”

Olan’s face does soften a little, but Terry can tell he’s still frustrated inside. “It’s okay.” His hand finds itself in Terry’s hair, running those thick fingers through it to calm down. Terry smiles up at him and leans into the touch. There’s no way to say really how much he’s glad to be living here now. More than that, how glad he is to be with someone that sees him as more than a mouth or a body, as a comfort and a lover he can confess all his burdens to. Terry’s wanted that for longer than he can remember. Feels good to be wanted for more than just one night stands and rent money.

It’s dark outside now, it usually is when Olan comes home. They sit in silence because Terry feels like it’s not the right time yet to start telling Olan about how his day was fine because the most he did was watch his 80s workout tapes and forget how to use the dishwasher. Sometimes, Olan just needs his moment. He’s rarely this upset, but even when he’s not, they are two very different people and Olan’s the kind of person that needs time to himself to think.

During the quiet, it gets Terry thinking a bit. About how different Olan is when he’s mad, because it takes a lot to really make him mad in the first place. They’re both blessed with incredibly long fuses, but work is work and it still clearly gets to Olan sometimes.

All that to say, Terry’s imagining Olan with his hand around his neck, fucking out his frustrations.

Yeah, that’s enough to get him talking again.

He very conspicuously rests his hand on one of Olan’s thighs, high enough to make himself “known” as it were, low enough to make him still seem coy about it. Like anyone could’ve just mistakenly put their hand right where Olan can’t ignore it, an honest mistake.

“Poor guy,” Terry mutters with his cheek pressed into Olan’s lap. “You wanna blow off some steam or something?” Terry is nothing if not transparent as fuck in his own intentions.

Olan swallows, and Terry can see his Adam's apple bulge and move up and down in his throat. Terry hopes and prays he says yes to his proposition, because he’s already got himself worked up thinking about it. Thinking about Olan fucking his face with a stern hand in his hair, the rough stuff he loved back when he was getting money from violent dudes that were seeing red just to fuck something compliant and eager. Olan will do that for him if he asks, yank on his hair or give him a few love bites to write in his diary about the next day, but the thought of him just doing it on his own, without Terry having to request it from him because he’s that mad and that primal is a whole different level of a turn-on. He subconsciously presses his thighs a little tighter and patiently waits for an answer.

“Terry…”

“Please, man, let me help you,” It surprises even him how he’s already all breathy and desperate for it when he just had the idea a minute ago. Maybe Terry needs this a little more than Olan does. Olan’s probably too nice to just grab him and vent his frustrations like that without a little pushing. He squeezes harder around his crotch and bites his lip in anticipation to see what he’ll do. “Take it out on me, big guy.”

There’s another pause in the conversation for Olan to consider, it feels like Terry’s never felt more excited about anything.

“Get on your knees, then.”

God, that’s a phrase Terry’s missed. He scrambles off the couch to get on the floor as he’s told, feeling the cool hardwood under his knees. A little easier on them than rough bar bathroom floors. Almost like old times. Doing it with someone he loves is a lot better of a feeling, though. Because he’s fucking crazy about Olan, always has been.

Terry goes to unzip his pants with his eager fingers, then remembers a little trick that always used to get guys riled up. He leans down close, so close he can smell him, dry cedar and alcohol. Then, he takes the zipper of his jeans between his teeth and pulls it down while looking up at Olan from under his bangs to watch his expression change at the kind of pornstar-like sexuality of such a small gesture. Terry swears he can see him shiver. An excited feeling overtakes him when Olan’s cock outlined through his boxers comes into view, already starting to look a little bigger from arousal.

Terry wastes a lot of time looking up at him. Olan’s shirt is unbuttoned enough to show his chest, and un-tucked in. Terry can imagine the rest under it perfectly in his head. A dad bod sculpted from the gods themselves. Toned pecs but a soft core, with high hip bones that peek out from under his pants and fine black hairs that trail down to where he can’t see. Yet. All sharp angles and edges. He’s impressed how well the guy stays in shape knowing how much he loves his whiskey.

Olan pulls down his boxers until he’s exposed, almost hastily like he’s just as eager as Terry is to unwind using his mouth. Terry scoots between his legs and takes him into his hands with feather-light touches trying to tease him into getting hard enough to suck off. He buries his nose in one of Olan’s hip bones, still looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. Olan’s face is stern and sends chills up Terry’s spine imagining getting treated like a toy by someone that’s usually so chill and nice with him. Terry starts stroking him with more intensity and longer touches, a stupid smile plastered over his face. Olan’s dick is long and thick to match it, definitely something to be proud of. He lets his tongue peek out from between his plump, pink lips to lick the shaft while his fingers do the work to get him hard, and finishes it with small kisses back down to the base. He tends to focus on this part, even when Olan’s as hard as he’s gonna get, Terry’s still lingering on giving him loving below-the-belt kisses.

Just like Terry wants from him, Olan grabs him by the hair and finally steers him so his lips are against the head. He melts, makes a small moan from the back of his throat and starts sucking and licking on the head like he was made for it. He feels like he should be embarrassed for being so eager so fast with all his small moans and shivering breaths just thinking about all the things that could be done to him right now. But shame’s not something he really knows.

Drool pools in his mouth around Olan’s cock, finding its way past his lips so he’s quite literally drooling over Olan’s cock. He’s already such a mess, and Olan’s hand is still in his hair, and everything’s already perfect. He loosens up his throat and communicates with Olan through eyes alone that he’s ready for whatever, whenever. In response, Olan puts pressure on the back of his head, basically shoving his cock down Terry’s throat. There’s a split-second of natural panic from the sudden intrusion and he gags hard around the thick cock being roughly slammed into the back of his throat, but it’s only a moment before Terry’s body adjusts and lets him breathe out his nose to take it. Good thing too, because Olan’s not holding back at all.

He tightens his grip on Terry’s hair, using it as a tight vise to hump all the frustrations of his nine to five into his lover’s mouth. Terry’s practically over the moon with happiness and pleasure. He’s already soaked through his underwear and tingling all over down there just from the sheer excitement he gets at being treated like this. Like a slut or a blow-up-doll. It’s a struggle keeping up with Olan’s rough pace, but eventually he can be used to his heart’s content without gagging. It’s been a while but his body remembers how to hold its own with a rough partner.

Terry can’t help reaching between his legs to touch himself during this. At the very least it means he’ll be ready when Olan decides to fuck him for real. He looks up at him again to see if his expression’s changed to see him gritting his teeth with his lips just slightly parted and a focused and powerful look in his eyes, like he really is taking it all out on Terry’s throat and body. It’s not like him to spew tired, bad porno dialogue or call him a ‘dirty whore’ or something equally as cliche, but his face says enough. His face is enough to make Terry feel even weaker at his core.

“Don’t touch yourself.” Olan says once he notices Terry rubbing himself off. His voice is calm but rough with arousal, and Terry can’t help but obey. Wishes he could pull off right now, say something like ‘yes, sir’ or something else horny and stupid. Probably just to make sure Terry doesn’t make himself cum before they even really do anything, which he’s definitely done before. He places his hands on Olan’s thighs where he can see them.

They’ve only been going at it for a few minutes and Terry already feels stupid, drunk over his cock and drunk in love with his working stiff boyfriend. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed being roughed up, but he really has. Everything feels like it’s throbbing, even his throat feels like it’s gonna be sore tomorrow from this. He almost, almost wishes he had a job too, so he could go there the next day with his voice scratchy and his body all fucked-sore so people could see the state of him and have their suspicions. He still doesn’t want to work, though.

Eventually, he’s pulled off Olan’s cock by his hair, panting and red-faced and no doubt already looking like a used mess, spit coating his mouth and all. Terry looks up at him and gives a dazed smile, Olan rewards him with a softer expression.

He breaks character for a moment, he’s just nice like that. “You okay?” He’s almost apologetic, but Terry’s had worse things done to him than a rough throatfucking. Olan’s hand takes a break from pulling on Terry’s dark hair to run his fingers through it instead, a genuine apology that’s not needed but appreciated. Terry feels all warm inside from it as he nods thoroughly to show that he’s having a good time, to say the least.

Olan nods and lets go of his hair altogether. Terry watches from the floor as he gets up off the couch and starts to completely undress, giving Terry a look that tells him he should be doing the same. He obeys, but not very well since his eyes are still watching Olan, intent on seeing him undo every last button on his dress shirt like it’s a movie he can’t wait to see the ending to. Terry loves everything about him, physical and personal. They both do manage to get undressed, Terry a bit slower since he’s watching a striptease, and within seconds Olan’s on top of him on the floor.

It’s heaven. Olan’s big hands touching so much of his body he can’t help but feel small compared to who’s feeling him up. His legs wrap around Olan’s torso to get him that much closer. Terry likes it when they don’t bother going to bed or even relocating onto the couch or a chair, being fucked on the ground is a whole different kind of ecstasy for him to be obsessed over.

Sharp spots of pain travel down his spine from Olan biting at his neck and leaving red marks on pale skin that’ll become bruises by morning. Now that his mouth isn’t occupied anymore, he can freely scream about how good it feels and how badly he needs it and all sorts of stupid, dick drunk ramblings his mouth can come up with.

“Fuck, man,” he wraps his hands around Olan, making little claw marks on his back. “Fuck, please, just...just mess me up…” is the best he can do right now because his heart’s pouding in his chest so loud it’s all he can hear. The hottest feeling in the world is feeling wanted and the way Olan’s touching and kissing him right now, there’s no way he’s not.

Olan untangles Terry’s legs so he’s spread eagle beneath him, and without hesitation shoves them up almost to a point of being uncomfortable until they rejoin and Terry’s legs rest on Olan’s shoulders, pinning him into a mating press like it’s nothing.

Fuck, that position. Olan really knows how to make him feel like a whore.

No time wasted, the most warning Terry gets is a second’s worth of Olan making sure he’s situated and ready beneath him before roughly plowing right into him now that he’s got him in the position he wants. Terry cries out in surprise and excitement, that same goofy smile on his face when he feels himself being filled up and fucked so fast it makes his head spin. He likes angry Olan. Likes him all the time of course, but is really into the side of him he doesn’t always get to see. Because he knows Olan cares about him, that’s why he can get off so fast on him fucking Terry like he doesn’t care about him at all. It’s only as sweet when he knows Olan’s gonna be taking care of him like he just got shot after this.

Terry’s arms are helplessly laid out on both sides of his head, the perfect place for Olan to grab his wrists and pin them down to the wooden floors below. Olan starts moving — really, he never stopped moving in the first place — at a fast, breakneck pace that draws embarrassing moans out of Terry with every thrust. They’re getting a little too old to go so fast, and are both probably well aware that it’s gonna hurt once this is over, but the moment begs them to hump like the sex-crazed twenty-somethings they used to be. Well, that Terry used to be. From what he’s heard, Olan’s been pretty vanilla up until meeting him. A missionary position kind of guy. He definitely isn’t anymore.

He can feel it every time, every rapid thrust inside him pushes him further to the edge. Terry thinks he might be able to cum untouched this time, he’s done it before. And is it really cumming untouched with Olan’s cock ramming into him over and over, his hands covering every inch of his body? Hell, just the feeling of his hands around his wrists and the observation that his hands feel big enough to snap Terry’s bones like twigs if he wanted to but never would because he loves him and only wants to hurt him in the ways that feel good, it’s enough to make that weak feeling in his gut travel down between his legs.

Terry’s past incoherence at this point, slurring out muffled ‘pleases’ and ‘fucks’ like drunken prayers. This is everything he fantasizes about, his embarrassing daydreams of being some office toy, a human doll to be played with and fucked until Olan’s no longer stressed or upset. And it’s only him anymore, that’s the only guy he wants it from now that they’re steady and no one else could do it for him anymore.

“Choke me...pl-please…” the words practically spill from his lips, the most he can manage under the weight of his own pleasure. And Olan’s not really the type of guy to just do something like that, but Terry figures he might as well ask as long as Olan’s being rough with him. He doesn’t even need to be asked twice; Terry feels those hands leave his wrists and come back together around his throat. He teases him about it, like he’s not really going to put pressure onto his throat. When he finally does, Terry’s eyes practically roll back into his head. He knows exactly where to put his fingers to choke him without injuring him, Terry feels unbelievably safe under those hands. Olan doesn’t stop fucking him like he hates him, Terry’s beginning to see stars in his vision and the only things he can hear anymore are Olan’s deep groans and the frenzied sound of hips smacking against hips.

He feels like he’s gonna either pass out or cum so hard his mind breaks, whichever hits him first. Olan’s not far from it either, Terry can see him above, gritting his teeth through pleasure and looking either really focused or really, really angry.

Though he knows it’s coming, it still happens so fast he doesn’t have the time or the awareness to be ready for it. Olan practically shoves his head against the floor by his grip on Terry’s neck, squeezing him tighter when he finishes as deep inside him as he can possibly go. If there was a risk of anything, Terry would definitely be screwed with it. But there’s not, never is, so all that registers is the overwhelming warmth and ecstasy inside him from being filled up and pleasantly strangled until Olan’s emptied out all his frustration into him. The grip around his neck has loosened up by the time Olan’s done, Terry doesn’t notice because he’s already following after, cumming hard and spasming around him to fruitlessly escape the intense orgasm shooting its way through his body in beautiful shockwaves that make him black out for a bit. When he comes back to the waking world, he realizes he must look like an idiot with his tongue out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. Now that he’s lucid, he can see that Olan’s expression is one of tenderness and apologetics. His hands have long since parted ways with his neck, now one’s holding his cheek like he’s made of glass.

“You okay?” Olan pants out, still winded but clearly sufficiently calmed down from the stress of his work day. They’re so close, still locked in that intimate pose, that Terry feels almost embarrassed for how he acted in the moment.

“Yeah, I’m good.” His voice is hoarse and feeble, but he means it. Terry’s own pleasure aside, he’s happy to see Olan feeling like himself again. Even happier that he was the one to help him. A unique sense of pride. “You were so fuckin’ hot, man.”

He watches Olan get redder in the face up close and personal, which means a lot since they’re both flushed from the sex. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Terry gives him a peck on the lips in response. “Dude, you know I like that kind of thing. Come on.”

“I still could’ve hurt you.”

“Hell yeah.”

Olan sighs at him and gives up, sliding out and off of him so they’re both on their backs on the floor. Terry almost instantly misses the warmth and his touch like the clingy thing he is and rolls over to rest his head on Olan’s sweaty chest.

“You feel better?” Terry asks in earnest as he traces absentminded shapes on Olan’s chest with his finger. He doesn’t exactly understand what compels people to put up with stuff like rude bosses or annoying customers, just understands that they’ve become so entangled in each other’s lives and troubles that it feels like they share that weight. Terry doesn’t mind. Olan could be on trial for murder and Terry still wouldn’t mind bearing the same weight as him. It means everything to have someone that cares enough to check if he’s okay after rough sex like that. More than Olan can probably ever know.

“Yes, actually.” Olan smiles at him and it’s like being smiled at by the sun itself. “Thank you.” He kisses Terry on the head. He never gets tired of the intimacy. Feels like he’s been missing it for his whole life, in fact.

“Cool…” there’s still some doubt and fear in him. He doesn’t want this to all just be temporary, a good but fleeting dream. It’s not, he’s pretty certain at this point, but you don’t spend your life getting treated like garbage and come out of it trusting that it won’t happen again. He does trust Olan, though, and that’s enough. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

More than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Olan/Terry is god tier and im so glad i got the chance to write them
> 
> If you’re looking for commissions you can dm me on my twitter listed on my profile. I may decline since i’ve done a grand total of 1 commission after this one, but feel free to inquire. I specialize in terry hintz getting dicked down
> 
> And if you liked it, comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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